


conquer

by touchtheskye



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Making Out, Nightmares, Vault D, prompt, skoulsonfest2k15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 12:54:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3174276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/touchtheskye/pseuds/touchtheskye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She needs to shake this. It pisses her off, being uncomfortable in her own basement. </p><p>(Written for Skoulson RomFest 2k15. Day 2, prompt: nightmares.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	conquer

Skye isn’t really sure why she’s doing this, but it’s happening. She’s already almost four minutes into bypassing the Playground’s systems and looping the security feed on Vault D in the basement. Nobody has noticed, nobody will. 

She’s hiding out in the open, feet up, chatting casually with Mack and Hunter as she works away on her laptop. Nobody suspects that you’re up to something when you do it right in front of them. She’s used this tactic before. 

It worked on Ward. She remembers the look on his face in that diner in LA when she turned the laptop around. The moment he realized she knew he was Hydra, and that she’d sent his location and mugshot to the authorities.

It’s done. The camera in the cell is no longer recording, and the loop is running. Hunter conveniently says something gross, and Skye takes this opportunity to make a disgusted noise, roll her eyes at the boys, shut her laptop and head in the direction of her bunk.

Nobody notices.

And that’s how she ends up standing alone in Ward’s recently vacated cell, tablet in hand. 

The room is empty. Bakshi is still lying in the infirmary, recovering from what Bobbi has labelled “his theatrical cry for help.” Cyanide poisoning takes a lot out of you, apparently. He hasn’t been down here for a while.

Which is good, Skye needs to be down here. Alone. The nightmares are starting to get out of hand. She was twenty minutes late for training with May a couple mornings ago. Only a matter of time before her sleep deprivation takes a toll on her field work.

The nightmares are awful, worse than anything she’s ever had, even as a kid at the orphanage. She wakes up soaked in cold sweat every time, pulse racing. She’s started sleeping with a seismic activity detector nearby; so far the alarm hasn’t gone off, she’s got things under control, but she doesn’t know how long it will last.

That’s how the nightmare goes, too. It always starts well. She’s in control of her powers, things feel normal. But they never stay that way. She starts to lose it, breaking things, hurting people. Some nights she becomes her father, looks down at her hands and finds that they’re his, covered in blood. Coulson and May lock her up, here in this cell, with Ward and the rest of the monsters.

She needs to shake this. It pisses her off, being uncomfortable in her own basement. It’s an irrational fear, she reminds herself. Irrational. There’s no good reason to feel such bad feelings about a room. Just because a Nazi scumbag used to live here, just because he used to spew manipulative crap about Hydra and SHIELD and her father here, just because he’s on the loose now, just because the room itself is dark and creepy and high-tech. It’s just a room.

The problem is, Skye has pretty much always felt strong attachments to places: her van, the back seat of the SUV, the conference room on the Bus, her bunk, Coulson’s office... She’s always found a sort of comfort in claiming space for herself. Places are generally easier to trust than people.

It’s important to her to fix this. If she can walk into Vault D and feel nothing, it means that she wins. She is in control. Ward and Hydra have no power here.

At least the smell is pretty much gone. It used to reek of Ward, of his breath and his sweat. She takes in a few deep breaths through her nose, experimentally. Actually, the smell is completely gone. Skye wonders which unlucky person had the pleasure of mopping up after Ward’s departure. She hadn’t even thought about it until now.

Hunter? Usually the unpleasant jobs ended up in Hunter’s lap. Inventory. Cleaning bathrooms. Might as well make Hunter do it, he’ll find something to complain about either way.

But no, it was probably May. Hunter wouldn’t have done such a thorough job. Skye gets the feeling that bleach was involved. Maybe rubbing alcohol. Possibly fire. She honestly can’t smell anything, which is weird, places always have a smell. Coulson’s office, for example. It smells mostly like drywall and fresh paint right now, but underneath there’s the smell of old vinyl and Coulson’s aftershave.

She is so distracted by the thought of May seething while doing Ward’s laundry that she doesn’t even hear Coulson come in. She doesn’t notice him until he’s basically right beside her and she can’t help it, she kind of jumps a bit. 

There’s an apology already on his face when she turns to look at him, but he doesn’t say anything. 

She remembers how he tried to apologize before, for locking her in here. She had smiled and made some kind of bad joke about how everybody does strange things when they’re high on weird alien DNA. He had looked so grateful and beaten up that she just pulled him close and held him. She remembers how his body practically melted against hers, exhausted and relieved, his head dropping to her shoulder. He never got to say a word of his probably sincere and lovely apology.

“How did you know I was in here?” she asks, and her voice seems way too loud in the empty room. He studies her for a moment before answering.

“I happened to glance up at the monitors as you walked in. You looped the feed in here, but not in the hall.”

“Oh.” Glaring oversight, whoops.

He doesn’t press, and they stand side by side for a moment, looking into the cell.

“Would you like me to leave?” he asks, finally.

No, she thinks. But instead she asks him, “Do you want to leave?”

“It’s not exactly the nicest part of the base,” he notes, conversationally. “But I’d like to stay with you.”

He leaves it at that, which she appreciates. He doesn’t ask why she would want to be here. It’s Coulson, he’s probably figured it out anyway. She imagines the profiler in him knew what this was about from the moment he watched her disappear from the hallway camera.

Coulson reaches out and takes Skye’s hand. Slowly, gently, their fingers intertwine. She gives his hand a brief squeeze. He squeezes back.

Skye knows exactly what he’s doing. These deliberate, silent touches are meant to reassure her. They’re meant to tell her that she’s not a monster, that she’s not going to hurt anyone, that he trusts her, that he’s not afraid. Touching her like this has always been a go-to move of Coulson’s when she’s miserable. Like a physical reminder that she’s not alone, he’s on her side, they’re in the dark together.

Coulson is not a super touchy-feely person, either. He’s a warm person, charming and funny even, but he doesn’t touch people very often. She likes that it’s something he only does with her. Skye’s never really seen him initiate physical contact with May, or Simmons, or Fitz. Not even Trip, and she knows how much he loved Trip.

It’s weird, what happens next. Coulson turns to her and gently brushes a strand of hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. His hand lingers for a moment at her cheekbone.

It gets weirder. He doesn’t move, he just stands there, looking at her up close. She feels like maybe he’s waiting for her to do something about it.

She decides, in that instant, that she _is_ going to do something about it. She closes the distance between them and presses her lips to his.

Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t this. Coulson seems startled. In fairness, she’s pretty startled herself. But his lips are warm and pliant under hers, and after the initial shock has worn off, he’s kissing her back.

She has no idea what has brought this on, why they’re doing this now, but she’s starting to regret that it never happened sooner. Coulson is a fantastic kisser, as it turns out. His mouth is hot and unrelenting against her skin, all teeth and tongue, blazing a feverish trail down to her collarbone.

“Maybe we should take this upstairs,” he says, and Skye can barely hear him over the blood buzzing in her ears. It takes her almost a full minute to drag her lips away from his earlobe and figure out what he’s talking about; she’s completely forgotten their surroundings.

She scans the room for a moment, thinking about it. Her nightmares suddenly seem like a distant memory. On the plus side there _is_ a bed, and she knows for a fact that the cameras are off...

No. They are not doing this, not here. The fact that she’s even considering it is kind of appalling. Nothing can make Vault D sexy, not even the fact that her boss has his tongue in her mouth.

“Your place or mine?” She is aiming for a seductive tone, sliding her arms around Coulson’s neck. It seems to work, she can actually see his eyes go black and unfocused.

“My bed is bigger,” he offers. 

Decided, then.

Skye takes him by the hand and leads him out of the vault.


End file.
